tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77065118189351957392018-03-05T21:55:10.226-08:00KatharosThe truth....from a confirmed, compulsive liarK. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-68016419139802471032011-11-12T22:59:00.000-08:002011-11-12T23:28:23.991-08:00They tell me I'm worth more. <div><br /></div><div>They tell me I deserve more.</div><div><br /></div><div>They tell me I won't ever go back. </div><div><br /></div><div>I nod. They're right. They can see this rationally, coherently, and clearly. </div><div><br /></div><div>They tell me that I'll be able to finally put myself first. </div><div><br /></div><div>They tell me it's over. </div><div><br /></div><div>and I nod. Agreeable words roll off my lips. Are they satisfied?</div><div><br /></div><div>I believed it. </div><div><br /></div><div>But tonight a very loud and distraught person has awoken inside my head...and they are <u>screaming</u>. </div><div><br /></div><div>For all this talk about better off, I was and it got taken away. Even better, I get to dig the grave and bury it myself. Maybe I'll put up a nice tombstone: "Here lies blissful, ignorant happiness - it was taken too soon". </div><div><br /></div><div>But it's ok...I'll be happy....<i>again</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Do you see the problem with that? It's the word <i>again</i> because I <i>was</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>And now I can't get back to that place where happiness resides, I feel like I went to get the mail and someone changed the locks while I was gone. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know this is one of those "bad moments" that will shortly pass and more will come but with time they will dwindle in number until they are just an occasional twinge here and there. </div><div><br /></div><div>That day cannot come fast enough, because right now all I want is to crawl into bed beside him, hear his laugh, and see his smile. I can't hear you telling me I deserve better over all this yelling in my head that's saying if I deserve more but this makes me happy then where is the point in all of this?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-4729018394169442642011-11-06T11:23:00.000-08:002011-11-06T12:15:56.125-08:00The long road to maybe not ever.Sorry no smooth introduction to the subject matter....this one is going for the abrupt crash landing into a wasteland of despair...please brace for impact. <div><br /></div><div>I have these friends that are a couple...and they are amazing people whom I consider part of my extended family. They've been together since high school and sometimes it's all I can do not to gape in amazement at the sheer togetherness that they have. They are the kind of couple that you enjoy just being around hearing their verbal patter back and forth that has such a weird yet synchronous rhythm to it. But sometimes it's a little hard to watch all that love and support flying around and not feel...completely envious. It's a little degrading to know that your happiness for their happiness is sometimes tempered by this small and selfish part that cannot get over the hurdle of "why not me?". </div><div><br /></div><div>The vast majority of my conscience is well aware that nothing in life is ever owed to anyone, that expectations, no matter how great, will never just coalesce into reality purely by force of will. </div><div><br /></div><div>But it's depressing to realize that good actions and abiding by that whole "do unto others as you would have done unto you" does not mean that the universe is going to uphold that one. It sometimes seems that accounting of good actions vs. bad actions is severely in the red, that there is no real benefit to being a "good" person except perhaps self satisfaction, and I can tell you right now that currently if surveyed I would fall into the "less than satisfied" category. </div><div><br /></div><div>All this constant guilt I carry around, worrying about whether or not I'm hurting someone, letting someone down, not helping someone enough...it's useless. No one cares except me if I'm burdened by guilt and apparently no one but me suffers if I choose the moral high ground. None of my helpfulness, generosity, compassion, or patience have gotten me any closer in terms of building the kind of relationship I want to have, the kind that I see between these two wonderful people. </div><div><br /></div><div>So what? Do I throw my google-esque "don't be evil" motto out the window and just live hedonistically? Send the guilt trips packing and shove everyone and everything to a lower priority than whatever I want? </div><div><br /></div><div>I have another option. My friends for the most part have always been wonderful and supportive human beings that I am proud to know. So maybe it's time to cut out the fringe element that seems to be causing all these problems. Change the ultimate goal to one based more on self-reliance and satisfaction through other avenues. Because you know who has never let me down? Me. Maybe I can't trust people, animals, or the general moral accounting practices of the universe but when it comes down to it we enter and leave this world utterly alone...the rest is just filler. </div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-72525055855215613112011-09-27T13:39:00.000-07:002011-09-27T13:48:50.075-07:00The Bixby Canon Ridge<div><i>I descended a dusty gravel ridge, </i></div><div><i>beneath the Bixby Canon Bridge</i></div><div><i>Until I eventually arrived </i></div><div><i>at the place where your soul had died. </i></div><div><i>And barefoot in the shallow creek, </i></div><div><i>I grabbed some stones from underneath </i></div><div><i>and waited for you to speak to me. </i></div><i><div><i><br /></i></div>In the silence, it became so very clear </i><div><i>that you had long ago disappeared</i><div><i>I cursed myself for being surprised, </i></div><div><i>that this didn't play like it did in my mind</i></div><div><i>All the way from San Francisco, </i></div><div><i>as I chased the end of your rope</i></div><div><i>'Cause I've still got miles to go...</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>And I want to know my fate.</i></div><div><i>If I keep up this way</i></div><div><i>But it's hard to want to stay awake.</i></div><div><i>When everyone you meet</i></div><div><i>They all seem to be asleep</i></div><div><i>And you wonder if your missing the dream</i></div><div><i>You can't see a dream</i></div><div><i>You can't see a dream</i></div><div><i>You just can't see a dream. </i></div></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-31273582596499248172011-04-27T15:41:00.000-07:002011-04-27T15:59:06.262-07:00Going Nowhere....Not So FastI'd just like to preface this post with the following information: I am currently sitting at the local pub drinking by myself...I'm able to do this because I can now walk to the local pub, and I can now walk to the local pub because I have finally moved out of the caustic urban mega mall that is the suburbs and into the big city. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's been about a week and a half since the move and from the limited time I have spent here I have made the following observation: the pedestrians here seem to have only two variable speeds: running and strolling. I tried to walk at a brisk pace the other day down to the liquor store and between getting stuck behind the stop-and-smell-the-roses pacers and the get-out-of-my-way-I'm-fucking-fit runners I got nowhere fast. It's annoying even while driving, because anytime I have to turn that's when the fucking strollers decide to cross the street...mostly while staring at their shoes and apparently counting the fucking stones in the asphalt. I'll wait until they finish meandering across the street and as soon as I go to step on the gas here comes the fucking runners out of nowhere. If pedestrians are allowed to cross a fucking street all willy-nilly then they should either wear helmets or it should only be a small fine if I happen to take them out at the knees with my windshield. </div><div><br /></div><div>But seriously though, it's the runners that really get to me. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sitting here, trying to enjoy my cigarette and they're swooshing by like a pack of obnoxious herd-like animals with running shoes, practically screaming "look at us! We're fucking athletic aren't we?! Look at you just sitting there on your ass like a derelict of society...get us some fucking water and make yourself useful will you?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Luckily, the convenience store down the street sells trip-wire...I mean fishing line. </div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-39881146905035932832009-05-12T15:55:00.000-07:002009-05-12T16:26:54.872-07:00All Out of Rope.......and if it had a chance in hell of working, I'd take the dullest razor blade and slice my wrists into ribbons and let the blood escape. <div><br /></div><div>......and if I thought it might make you stop, I'd crack my skull into a million pieces just to show you what I think. </div><div><br /></div><div>......and if it would provide a possibility that you might finally desist, I'd mix a deadly cocktail of amphetamines and send them singing through my veins.</div><div><br /></div><div>If there were anyway to just shut you up I'd choose any death at all just to stop your voice from damaging me, like acid to my ears. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-38680090472375016602009-05-11T14:01:00.000-07:002009-05-11T14:05:14.295-07:00Cover Letter<p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">K.Reynolds</span></p> <p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-weight: medium">katharosblog.blogspot.com , internet</p> <p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-weight: medium"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); font-family: 'Arial Narrow'; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="mailto:Heatherkbarry@gmail.com">kreynolds@gmail.com</a></span></p> <p align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-weight: medium"><br /></p> <p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-weight: medium"><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;">Dear Hiring Manager, </span> </p> <p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-weight: medium"><br /></p> <p align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; font-weight: medium"><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"> I'm replying to a job your company posted on kijiji.ca for an Executive Assistant (which I would be </span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><i>perfect</i></span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><span style="font-style: normal"> for), but there's something I need to discuss with you first: honesty. See, here I am sending you all of my personal information right there at the top of the page being all completely transparent and you won't even tell me what company it is I'm applying to! What is this, the job opportunity Mystery Box? Did you ever consider that I might have a few requirements that YOUR company might have to meet? (Already you should have an innate desire to hire me because unlike most applicants, I have </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><span style="font-style: normal"><u>standards</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="text-decoration: none">). Job interviews are like blind dates: neither of us really want to be there and chances are one or both of us is going to end up disappointed. So let's be up front with each other shall we? You meet my salary expectations, but to be quite honest I don't care </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><span style="font-style: normal"><u>how</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="text-decoration: none"> big your benefits package is...could we exchange that for coming in late occasionally? And while we're getting down to the nitty-gritty here, what's your policy on office supplies? Are you going to get all possessive on me when I sneak a few dozen packages of post-it notes home in my handbag? Speaking of post-it notes, how do you feel about lined post-it notes? Great innovation or creativity suppressant? I won't tell you which way I lean, but let me tell you I am </span></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><span style="font-style: normal"><u>passionate</u></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial Narrow;"><span style="font-style: normal"><span style="text-decoration: none"> about the subject! And really, what else could you want in an executive assistant? I can clearly communicate better than you can company-who-won't-even-give-out-their-name-and-obviously-has-trust-issues and I have a slightly overzealous obsession with office supplies, can you say “hired”? Now before you show me to my desk, I have something I'd like to confess. I know you were trying to be all anonymous and everything, but I totally Googled your postal code and found out where you live and what it is you do. I'm not a stalker or anything, I just like to be well-informed. Which brings me to my next question, as a company solely devoted to promoting diversity how opposed are you to a few fairly inoffensive racial jokes now and again? I know it's not exactly “politically correct” but have you heard the one about the Mexican gardener?</span></span></span></p>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-63078908415782809922009-05-11T09:27:00.000-07:002009-05-11T10:02:14.057-07:00There Ain't No Rest for the Wicked...<div><br /></div><div>It's too bright outside...I feel overexposed. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I love the night. </div><div>Cast in deep shadows, nothing is certain. </div><div>From far enough away, we all look like someone else. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-87083172879366422642009-04-24T13:31:00.000-07:002009-04-28T11:47:09.453-07:00Your Parts Will Go On And On...Dear Saturn, <div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I never realized how much you meant to me until you were cruelly ripped from this world by an incompetent Polish guy in a Corolla, we had some good times though didn't we?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I never named you Saturn, other drivers would have named you "Sally" or "Suzie", but not me dear one, I always respected you too much to equate you with a middle aged waitress. </div><div><br /></div><div>I remember the first day I brought you home, pushed in the clutch, threw the gearshift into first and realized I had no idea what I was doing. You were so patient with me Saturn, remember the first time I tried to get into a steep driveway and screwed up so badly that I now know what burnt clutch smells like?</div><div><br /></div><div>You always forgave so generously, I cannot count the number of times I took out my anger on your dent-resistent polymer side-panels and you took every kick without showing a scratch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Remember when we almost ran out of gas outside of Oshawa? Saturn I'm so sorry, but seriously I didn't know anyone had planned a city where you could go 20 kilometers without ever finding a gas station. We made it to that Esso together, me turning off the ignition and coasting down every hill and you ekking out every last drop of gasoline in your fuel lines. </div><div><br /></div><div>Near the end you even stopped making that annoying beeping noise when the tank was almost empty, because Saturn, you knew I wouldn't damn well fill up until I had to. </div><div><br /></div><div>Remember when I said goodbye to you Saturn as they hooked you up to the tow truck? I gave you a good 'ol pat on the back for a job well done and ended up with a nice deep cut in my hand from your splintered side panels. I know it wasn't a last little bit of revenge for not changing your oil in the last 8,000 kilometers, it was your way of leaving your mark on me so I could carry a piece of you with me just a little while longer. </div><div><br /></div><div>They've sent you to selvage my dear Saturn, to be picked over like carrion by remanufactured car part vultures. They'll tear you apart and sell you off piece by piece to go into countless other cars just like you. You'll save lives Saturn.....well actually you'll just save a few people a couple bucks....but everytime I see a Saturn I'll think that maybe a little part of you is living on in them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Amen.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-47436119921944278582009-04-22T20:28:00.000-07:002009-04-22T21:48:33.281-07:00AnticipationApart from the whole emotional trauma (or lack thereof) there are two things that happen when you become "unattached" that really affect your life:<div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">1. You can kiss other boys. (Or men if you so wish to do so)</div><div style="text-align: center;"> THIS IS IMPORTANT!! NEVER FORGET THAT YOU CAN ACTUALLY GO OUT AND DO THIS AND IT IS PERFECTLY ALRIGHT! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">2. Your friends, family, neighbours, postman and complete strangers will become never-ending fonts of knowledge dedicated solely to when, who, how (and in some strange cases "what") you should date.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Some of you will say that this second item really shouldn't be that important, but as someone who was told from a young age that EVERYTHING I DO IS <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">WRONG</span> I usually get advice on any major decision from an entire panel of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">representatives</span>.....hey, I'm all for democracy alright?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So far, while some representatives have been divided on a few issues, there is one on which they stand in solidarity.....very LOUD solidarity:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">THOU SHALT NOT RESTRICT THYSELF TO ONE PERSON, THE MORE THE BETTER. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And i get where they're coming from, especially in respect to me, the girl who cannot stop having back to back relationships like it's a saturday afternoon CSI marathon. But just for arguments sake (and thanks to freedom of speech YOU CAN'T STOP ME) I'm going to tell you all why I think YOU ARE WRONG. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Anticipation. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">What, you need more than that?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Do you remember the first kiss you had with someone that you really liked? Wasn't it awesome? </div><div style="text-align: left;">And I'm sure that a kiss on the first date is really good, for me the more build-up the better. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So just imagine this:</div><div style="text-align: left;">There is this one person currently in your life that just stands out a little more from the rest, so you decide to get to know them just a little better. Sometimes you find out that they have a strange penchant for scrapbooking their financial statements and it ends right there AS IT RIGHTLY SHOULD, BECAUSE WHO <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">DOES</span> THAT!? But if you're lucky, you start discovering someone who is <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">way</span> more than what they appear to be. I mean, this person has untold DEPTHS of not-too-scary and sometimes kinda wonderful things about them. The more you learn, the more you want to know. It's like a Pulitzer prize winning book with a really bland cover, you're not sure why you even picked it up to begin with, but you end up reading it until the early morning hours because it is JUST THAT GOOD. Eventually you become absolutely consumed with this person, you start imagining places that you would go together, conversations you would have, jokes you would both totally get and the imaginary sex? IT DOES <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">NOT</span> SUCK. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And in real life? You haven't so much as <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">touched</span> this person in any way. No hand holding, no accidental footsies, no gratuitous hugging and of course do not even think about staring deeply into their eyes. Did you just think about it? You thought about it, didn't you? Well STOP.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Then there comes that moment, just before THE TOUCHING that you are physically and mentally more aware of this person than any other. For God's sake you could pick out the exact shade of their eyes on paint chip at home depot, graph the number of times they blink per minute and catalogue every item of clothing you've ever seen them in. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I live for that moment and the one that comes after it. The moment that their lips and your lips finally, FINALLY get to meet. Because it breaks down that no-touching barrier and all of a sudden you can do all of those things you've been thinking of incessently for weeks. You can finally wrap your arms around their waist, trail your fingertips down their arm or nibble on them a little. Actually, save all biting and nibbling for at least the second date, you can work up to that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And you know what? The kissing doesn't even really matter. It doesn't even have to be that good, and you wouldn't even know. It is the thrill, the release of ALL OF THAT TENSION rushing at you that makes it better than any roller coaster, horror movie or near death experience. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-25108014760782352012009-04-20T10:35:00.000-07:002009-04-20T10:39:43.351-07:00Focal PointThis whole "unattached" thing was <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">supposed</span> to give me a chance to reconnect with myself. <div><br /></div><div>Rediscover what it is I'm passionate about, what I actually want from life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, I've spent most of my time thinking about you.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm disconnecting the internet.</div><div><br /></div><div>Either kiss me or never speak to me again, I can't handle this in between shit.</div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-86427720351840162009-04-16T08:43:00.000-07:002009-04-16T08:44:59.654-07:00Anger Management<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Narrow-minded, patronizing, arrogant cocksucker.<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">now</span> I feel better.</div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-45383816904782402252009-04-15T19:10:00.000-07:002009-04-15T19:18:41.594-07:00Insanity<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">It amazes me how you can think that you know someone so utterly well that there is no chance that they could have slipped past the insanity detector and then one day.....</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">We are driving down a country road in that godforsaken car, headed once again to That Place We Go Every Freaking Weekend and I am trying to control my anger at his overly cautious driving. The road is currently at it's maximum of two lanes, about to narrow down to one just past the intersection we are approaching. We are in what I call the correct lane, the one that will not abruptly end. The light ahead of us turns red and the four cars in front of us come to a stop and as we approach he does something that I will never be able to reconcile with rationality: he switches lanes. He not only moves into the lane that will end 10 meters past the intersection, but he moves directly into position behind an 18 wheel diesel truck. Willingly. I almost don't want to ask, but I have to know why in God's name anyone would make such a ridiculous decision. Are we deliberately trying to make this car ride last LONGER? He has been impatiently sighing at the traffic for the last twenty minutes and he's suddenly decided to take the scenic route? Perhaps he's had an epiphany, maybe he's come to the sudden realization that life is so fleeting and our journey to THAT PLACE is a metaphorical representation of our life's path so we must enjoy the journey for as long as we possibly can. So I ask, waiting for his lips to form a response so profound that it will enrich my life just to have heard it spoken aloud. He turns to me and says with a conviction that could rival the pope's:</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">“Well, large trucks always start moving quicker, 'cause like they've got somewhere to <u>be</u><span style="text-decoration: none">”.</span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none">And with those words my life is indeed forever changed. Everything I believed before that moment has been completely wiped away by one indisputable fact: He is completely insane.</p>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-25123617244429364252009-04-15T19:08:00.000-07:002009-04-15T19:19:00.616-07:00Caution: Choking Hazard<p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I promised myself a long time ago, in the days of livejournal, that I would never use any form of open journal as my personal battleground. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">No matter how anonymous you make something, all it takes is one person with a vendetta to expose everything. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">However, sometimes my anger needs an outlet so I'm going to take a chance with this one.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I've been sending e-mails back and forth to my ex, mostly because it was a mutual break-up and I'd like to keep things friendly. But we've gotten stuck conversing on the reasons behind our mutual separation and it's now become a problem, and when I say “we”....I mean him. I won't get into the details, because the actual subjects are not the issue. This is:</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I'm the kind of person that chooses my words carefully, if I use a particular word it's because it implies exactly the meaning I'm trying to get across. No more, no less. And I find that a lot of people get stuck using specific words, maybe because they like them, maybe because they aren't aware that it doesn't really mean what they think it does, but they throw them around without realizing the severity of what it is they're saying. In this instance, there's a specific word that I'm speaking of and of course, a certain person:</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">Irrationality. I'm not sure what Webster's has to say about its definition, but to me it implies a complete disconnect from reality and rational thought. If you're irrational, you're likely one boarding call away from the crazy train. It is a somewhat subjective term, as my rationality and your rationality may differ, but I'm talking about rationality in the more general sense. I am not, for the record, irrational. Never have been and likely never will be. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I've read this e-mail, where I and my reasoning are repeatedly deemed “irrational”, quite a few times and I'm going to either delete it or frame it as one of the few examples of things that make me truly and genuinely angry. I've explained myself to death, I've simplified the concepts so that even the mentally retarded would catch my drift and this person just does NOT GET IT. Because they don't want to. That's the only conclusion I can come to. They have no desire to genuinely understand my perspective because then it might be ok to do things a little differently. It might reveal the fact that there is truly no one, absolutely correct way to do things. I think that's what they take comfort in, as long as they follow the rules there is no way things can go wrong, there's no way that THEY can be wrong. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I've always been one to just agree to disagree and accept that while we may differ in opinion both are equally as valid and there really is no right and wrong. I guess we all have to eat our own words at some point: </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">You. Are. Wrong.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">And if I could, I'd make you eat all your words too, starting with “irrational”. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in"><br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0in">I kind of hope you choke on it.</p>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-43858150773376618702009-04-14T21:29:00.000-07:002009-04-14T21:54:49.423-07:00After these messages...It's been awhile, my few but loyal followers. <div>I used to have to grasp for subject matter, but now it's like the all-you-can-eat buffet of subject matter has opened and I'm just paralyzed by all the choices. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I guess the most important thing is that I'm now unattached. </div><div><br /></div><div>Notice the careful use of wording there? <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Unattached</span>. Not <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">single</span>. Because that's how I feel and that's what I'm going to call it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Actually, the most important thing is that the break-up was not really that significant to me. I care, it changed my life, but I'm not all eating-buckets-of-ice-cream and weeping-into-my-tv-dinner kind of sad about it. Firstly, because tv dinners are just wrong and even an astronaut can tell you that. Secondly.....secondly.....I just don't know. It should have been slighly traumatizing to let go of something that was that good....sometimes. I guess it should have been a lot of things that it just wasn't.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">I</span> should have been a lot of things that I just wasn't. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I've tentatively come up with a life plan that THIS WEEK I am happy with and some of this requires ALL OF YOU TO PARTICIPATE (if there's a word in the English language that fills me with a greater sense of dread than "participate", I haven't found it yet). </div><div><br /></div><div>1. I'm switching my major to ENGLISH. A whole other post will be dedicated to why...but for now JUST GO WITH IT.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. I'm finding a decent paying, permanent job when the semester finishes. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. I'm gettin' the hell out of Dodge and moving out.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. I'm continuing in night school.....for likely the next 4 years or so. </div><div><br /></div><div>5. If you will look directly to the right of this post you will see a link under "Other Blogs" it will take you to a magical place if you click on it just right.</div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-49170405540974645922009-04-03T14:43:00.000-07:002009-04-03T14:54:41.508-07:00Bathroom ConversationsI've discovered that there are two types of females in this world: those that think it is not necesary to hold a conversation in a public washroom and those that see no reason for a conversation to <u>not</u> continue just because you are performing a biological function (I'm looking at you Avery)<br /><br />While at first I found it slightly strange to carry on a conversation through the wall of a bathroom stall, I've been desensitized to the strangeness of it. However, I was recently subjected to a whole new level of bathroom conversation:<br /><br />I was in a bathroom in a bar in Toronto, which of course was a little on the sketchy side, complete with black paint, the requisite graffiti and the minimum of two stalls. So as I'm in one of these stalls I hear laughter coming from the one next to me. Repeatedly. This person is not on a cell phone as far as I can tell so I'm thinking they've had too much to drink.Now, I can tell from the shoes that it's a middle-aged woman, because let's face it, middle-aged women all seem to shop at the same shoe store that specializes in neutral colored, comfortable and ergonomically correct footwear that almost always has some sort of leather braiding or weave pattern all over 'em. Now this woman just keeps laughing which puts her into either the REALLY WASTED before 9pm or the mentally unstable weirdo brigade. She exits first and my first inclination is to just barricade myself in there until she leaves, but hey who wants to miss out on seeing the potentially insane? So I cautiously exit the stall to find a fake blonde, middle aged woman staring at me in the mirror with this huge smile on her face and you know what she says?<br /><br />"I'm sorry, but you just have the most incredible bladder I've ever heard. I could just not believe it, like you just kept PEEING!!!!"<br /><br />Now if that's not a compliment I'll remember until the day I die, I don't know what is.K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-85403640589685539012009-03-30T12:25:00.001-07:002009-03-30T12:52:34.868-07:00Y'all are Rainin' On This Here ParadeI should know better. It's Monday and people are <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">miserable</span> on Monday's.<div><br /></div><div>I'm usually not even close to functioning before noon on a Monday....and feeling good on a Monday?</div><div>You sir, are crazy.</div><div><br /></div><div>But today was different. Please note the use of the past tense in the previous statement: WAS.</div><div><br /></div><div>You see, I realize that I am often times (see: always) slightly unrealistic, but is it so bad to live briefly in a fantasy world where I might actually get to do something completely ridiculous?</div><div><br /></div><div>I know that a lot can change between now and the departure date, I know that likely driving for more than 20 hours is completely stupid and that likely I will not be able to afford a plane ticket. I'll be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">lucky</span> if I can scrape up enough funds to provide sustenance for myself, but ALABAMA people!</div><div><br /></div><div>I do not and did not have an issue with people telling me that I am too poor to go, or that the 20 hour drive is more likely over 30 hours to a week in reality, but I do have an issue with the last conversation I had with a certain person.</div><div><br /></div><div>I said it before and I'll say it again: <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">I should know better</span>. </div><div><br /></div><div>I should know better that there is one person that never ceases to rain on my motherfucking parade at almost every opportunity if the fun does not include him. I should know by now that he knows the perfect way to immediately deflate my irrational excitement. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe he's right, perhaps it is a huge mistake on my part to show more excitement at the fact that I may just get to drive through a state full of people I LOVE to make fun of rather than show the same excitement for our possible trip together. The trip that he basically wants me to research with him and plan out even though I haven't really had the time and he really hasn't given me much information for except one word: Mexico.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well that's easy, I mean there's only like one place anyone ever goes in Mexico and there's only really one travel website that one could look up hotels and package deals on. Obviously I also know exactly when we would be going because that's certainly INFORMATION THAT I'VE BEEN GIVEN. Oh, and price range? Don't even get me started on the absolute tomes of knowledge I have concerning that little subject. </div><div><br /></div><div>He's also apparently paying for me to go. Which is really cool that he wants to do that, but you would think that after all the conversations we've had where I plainly state that I am not entirely comfortable with him even paying for us to see a movie when I have ZERO dollars, that the same sentiment might also apply to this? MAYBE, YOU THINK?</div><div><br /></div><div>This is a rant. It is a rant because I am completely irrationally angry but I WAS HAPPY ON A MONDAY AND YOU RUINED IT. </div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. YOU CAN SUCK IT.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">'Cause it's better if you don't</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">oh it's so much better if you won't</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">'cause it's better every time you bring me down.</span></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-42846584633826555852009-03-27T08:51:00.000-07:002009-05-11T21:07:30.639-07:00A Shining Example<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">...of what's wrong with the world we live in. I've started subscribing to the CBC RSS feed in order to feel like I know a little bit about what's going on in the world...and I'm considering subscribing to CNN as well. Not for the current war on terror body count or info on the current UN proclamation, no it's so I can get my daily fix of news articles like this:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold; line-height: 39px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Watch out — your pet could send you to hospital</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: bold; line-height: 39px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here's some exerpts:</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 39px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Thursday's report by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention looked at the falling hazards</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 39px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">posed by pets, based on five years of emergency department data for mentions of cats, dogs, kittens or puppies involved in nonfatal injuries."</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"About three out of every 10,000 people annually suffered fall-related injuries from cats or dogs that are serious enough to send someone to the hospital, the researchers said."</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">" 'Prevention measures for fall injuries should be balanced against the known health benefits of pet ownership,' such as reduced risk of heart attack."<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px;font-family:Arial;font-size:14px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Tripping was the main source of fall injuries from cats, which might be expected since felines often rub themselves affectionately against human legs."</span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Dogs could startle people, cause their owners to chase them, or leave dog toys around that pose a tripping hazard."</span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is my favorite quote...under "how to reduce pet-related accidents":</span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"Increasing recognition that pets and pet items can cause falls."</span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Seriously? You mean leaving stuff lying around on the floor can cause me to fall? And things that move could quite possibly get in my way if I'm not paying attention to where I'm going and cause me to become off balance? Well Jesus H. Christ why didn't someone warn me about this before?!</span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">While I cannot believe that someone thought this was actually a worthwhile subject to write about for a NATIONAL NEWS OUTLET, it is even more mind boggling that someone first had to do an entire research study on this. AND SOMEONE GAVE THEM MONEY TO DO IT. In case you didn't catch it from the quotes, it was performed by none other than the U.S. Center for Disease Control and Prevention. Stories like these just enforce my long-standing opinion that the world is becoming increasingly populated by paranoid cookie-cutter compliant idiots whom are all completely and utterly insane. </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; "><br /></p></span></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-62237243410266898652009-03-18T20:37:00.000-07:002009-03-18T21:08:21.391-07:00The Magic HatSounds a little like a children's book doesn't it?<div><br /></div><div>Did you ever have a piece of clothing or accessory that could make you feel better about yourself just by putting it on? </div><div><br /></div><div>There's nothing fantastic about this hat, from all appearances it looks like any other, but on those days when I need that extra bit of confidence it can make me feel truly awesome. Perhaps it's because it covers what I consider to be my worst feature: a forehead large enough to sell ad space on. Seriously, I didn't even know it was a problem until I started seeing pictures of it.....and man does it take up some photo real-estate!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, back to the hat. Not only does it cover and conceal, it's also kind of lucky. Everytime I wear it out to a coffee date with someone, things usually go pretty well. In fact, it was kind of the catalyst for the first kiss with my current boyfriend.....although some may not consider that a great selling point. It is my version of the oversized sunglasses, my own personal shield that I can hide behind and view the world from a defensive position. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I think it may be time to retire the magic hat. Not only because I'm not sure it's quite the fashion statement that I think it is, but because sometimes you have to let go of the security blanket. It's a great defense, but you can't live your life from the trenches. </div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes you have to put down your weapons and cross the battlefield. </div><div><br /></div><div>And who knows? Maybe you'll come out intact....big huge freaking forehead and all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Man, what a target.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-76500996098755039292009-03-12T21:32:00.000-07:002009-03-14T23:07:03.014-07:00I cannot stop thinking about you.<div><br /></div><div>It's gotten to the point of being severely <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">unhealthy</span>.</div><div><br /></div><div>But everytime I try to study or fall asleep at night I end up daydreaming about you. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have an insatiable desire to know what it's like to kiss you. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why do you have to be so goddamn sexy?</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd like to bite you all over.</div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-31670018627149137282009-03-12T20:50:00.000-07:002009-03-12T21:13:53.362-07:00Wisdom ThursdaysSo recently I've been hanging out more with L's family, specifically her aunt and friends on a Thursday night and I'm unofficially dubbing them "Wisdom Thursdays" because we sit around with a glass or two of wine and just talk about <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">everything</span>. It is just so unbelievably awesome to get perspective from people who have been through all this shit and aren't afraid to give you the details of their own life experiences. <div><br /></div><div>It just seems lately that I've been having these "life discussions" with people in their 30's and 40's and they are all telling me the same thing: Do not get stuck in a bad place, because this is the time that you should be figuring out <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">who</span> you are. It's strange how these random conversations always seem to take place at a time when they are so relevant. I don't necessarily believe in fate, but maybe at certain times we are more open to specific ideas and perspectives. </div><div><br /></div><div>I never really took the time to figure myself out in between relationships and it is coming back full force to bite me in the ass. I like to make other people in my life happy before I make myself happy, this combined with the fact that I am very non-confrontational causes me to compromise too much of myself with other people. Compromising is great, it's the lifeblood of a healthy relationship, but I allowed myself to compromise to the point where I've given up a piece of who I am. Maybe if the person I was with was little less unyielding this would be ok, but as wonderful and awesome as he is, he cannot meet me halfway. His boundaries are very black and white and I'm all about the shades of grey. </div><div><br /></div><div>So now I have to hurt someone in order to be the person I'm meant to be. There's something about that that strikes me as <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">wrong</span>. It shouldn't have to be this way. I shouldn't be able to have this much impact on someone else's life. That's what scares me. How did I end up with this....power? </div><div><br /></div><div>And yet, like I said to L tonight....there's something infinitely beautiful to it. It will hurt more than anything has ever hurt me before. But for the first time in a long time, there is no more apathy, no more numbness, no more half-truths....I am alive again. </div><div><br /></div><div>And it is fucking wonderful.</div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-63905193285787644622009-03-10T13:57:00.000-07:002009-03-10T20:51:52.329-07:00UncensoredThe following is a letter I wrote a long time ago to my current boyfriend. At the time I did not feel comfortable posting in LiveJournal as it had been compromised too many times, I couldn't write it down because God knows I live with some of the nosiest people on this earth, so instead I typed it into a word document, locked it with a password and forgot all about it. Until about a month ago. This is why documenting your feelings is important, no matter how insignificant and trivial they may seem at the time. It is so <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">vital</span> to just to be able to look back and say I FELT THIS AND IT MATTERS.<div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure if you'll pick up on my tone, but if I had written this on paper I feel like some of the words would have been scratched and gouged into the paper rather than written:</div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;">I want you to hold me like you never want to let me go, like I want to hold you. I remember when you said: “You complete me”. That was then, before you changed your mind. You don’t say anything like that anymore. You know now, that completing yourself with me would just add flaws to your perfection, a taint to your uncorrupted half. Then I was the optimal, now I am sub-prime. Why is it that I can see your flaws, not as mistakes on your character, but as imperfections that make you beautiful? Oh, I was beautiful to you in the beginning, but now I just don’t quite make the cut now do I? So patronizing. I have become a safeguard to a lonely death, an occasional display of amusement, but never your equal. I am fit only to provide entertainment when you desire laughter, food when you are hungry, counsel when you are divided, and, of course, sex when your appetite is whetted. Never is my mind as sound in rationale, my temperament as calm, my words as eloquent, my opinions as valid, or my desire as important as my obviously better half. When was it declared that I was the one who needed to catch up? Who made up the jury that found that it was me whom was lacking? Where was I? I thought we were in this together, I thought that was the point. Why ever pair us together, why ever even create the idea of together if we are to act according to our own priorities and whims? Two people can perform the same action together again and again and again, in perfect sync with each other but if they never understand the other then it as if their performing the action together was coincidental. It’s all happenstance. What if there had been someone else in my place, would they have done just as well if they met your basic requirements? Such carefully chosen expectations will only ensure that those particular expectations will be filled, what if there is more than just what you expect? Is the rest just superfluous? Believe me, I know where I sit in regards to these so-called “expectations” I believe at this moment I am a card carrying “just barely meets the minimum”. Although I could be wrong, I’m not sure as I wasn’t invited to my performance review either. There seems to be a lot I haven’t been invited to lately; family outings, weddings, movies with friends. There’s always the reasons, always the goddamned considerate, perfectly rational, fucking obvious reasons. I’m not invited to the family outing because it would be inconsiderate to expect me to take time off my precious, boring as fuck job. I’m of course always invited to the movies, it’s just one of those invitations that are never extended but anyone with a bit of sense would just <u>know</u> that they are of course invited. And I’m not invited to the wedding because they don’t know me, although I did think that when the marrying couple is a cousin that lives across the country this could be overlooked as really it’s just as much their fault for not coming to meet me. So conclusively, I am an idiot who loves my boring as fuck job and I just don’t know the right people. How charming. Oh, but let me tell you all those feelings of being left out go right out the window when I hear the “why didn’t you come?” after every event that I was supposedly previously engaged not to attend or supposedly not invited. Now what? Do I make you look like an idiot and tell them why I wasn’t there? Oh I’ve tried that: “Well I could have sworn you told me...” “If you weren’t so confusing...” “I thought your studies needed more attending to...”. So now I just keep my fucking mouth shut and let you follow whatever bullshit reasoning you want until you absolve whatever little doubt there could be in your mind that you could have done anything ANYTHING wrong. ANY-FUCKING-THING. It amazes me constantly how you can manipulate absolutely anything and everything to match perfectly with your ideal reality and I am the one who is ridiculous. I am the frustration of your life. I am a daily pain in the ass, needy, whining, estrogen fuelled ball of constant PMS who must always interrupt everything you love and hold dear: studying, watering plants, organizing old fiscal reports, and of course fantasy hockey teams. Hey, why don’t you love and hold me dear once in a fucking while? Because it doesn’t fit into your schedule. And that is why not a single little bit of any of my ranting or raving holds any importance or consequence, I just don’t fit. I do not go according to plan, I <u>will</u> not go according to plan, because the plan does not include me. I was added in sometime after it was already drawn up, reviewed, dated and signed. I am an addendum, an unforeseen clause that makes the whole thing null and void. I am something that inevitably will need to be crossed out and stricken from the record. It hurts. Not being crossed off, that I can take, it’s the cold, methodical way that you will do it that will really kill me. Like the writing on the contract, there is no depth to anything that you feel for me, no discernable texture or dimension. I can’t understand such an intangible emotion. You shouldn’t be able to put it down on paper or form it into a concise idea. It shouldn’t make sense. All I wanted was someone to understand the joke with me, to know my subtleties and challenge my beliefs. I want someone who knows my flaws, but can also accept my greatness.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;">I need someone<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;">who understands,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;">that there’s a voice<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;">inside my head,<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;">that sometimes says:<o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span style="font-family:&quot;MS PGothic&quot;;mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;">Just die already.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-58062261837219651282009-03-09T20:36:00.000-07:002009-03-09T20:59:01.408-07:00awkward!Um, so that was umm, yeah.....kinda not so much?<div><br /></div><div>So I had coffee with this guy that I may or may not have a slight "thing" for....and I'm not really sure how it went.</div><div><br /></div><div>First of all, as a disclaimer, I shouldn't even be analyzing whether he's into me or whatever, because I'm in a dedicated relationship....but that's a whole other can of worms that I just don't want to get into right now.</div><div><br /></div><div>So this is the second time I've had coffee with this guy and the first time was pretty awesome, we discovered quite a bit of common ground and it was still awkward but it was <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">good</span> awkward.</div><div><br /></div><div>So tonight was the second time and for like an hour before we were supposed to meet my heart is just pounding in my ears because I get THAT nervous seeing this person. I was hoping it would be a little easier, that the conversation would flow better and that I'd be a little more comfortable with him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yeah, right. I am the queen of awkwardness. </div><div><br /></div><div>I just can't tell how this went. I think, not suprisingly, that I may have come off as EXTREMELY BORING. There were awkward pauses GALORE.....well maybe only two or three, but STILL. </div><div><br /></div><div>Even if I just want to be friends with guy, I feel like I'm not getting any farther with him. I'm trying to figure out WHO THIS PERSON IS and I'm not really getting anywhere. I'm not looking for a discussion on emotional crap or anything but I feel like I'm the one constantly running the conversation and THAT IS NEVER GOOD. This is why I hang around with "type A" personalities, they ALWAYS have something to say and I don't have to figure out a path for the conversation to take. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have a few ideas as to why tonight was not so great, wanna hear them? Super.</div><div><br /></div><div>1. (Worst Case) He has discovered that I am actually completely and utterly boring and not only is he "not that into me" but is pretty much not interested in friendship either. This is the conclusion I get from the amount of finger tapping and clock-glances.</div><div> </div><div>2. Was never into me, just wants to be friends and maybe there is no "deeper" person than the one I had coffee with tonight. Maybe HE is boring, NOT ME. So there. (Unlikely, through conversations over the net and otherwise I already know he is way more interesting than me).</div><div><br /></div><div>3. (Best Case*) Is into me and awkwardness is a result of tension. Maybe alcohol can be used as an ice breaker? In this case, usually some sort of sexual contact will relieve tension, but in this specific case...is NOT possible....at the present time.</div><div><br /></div><div>* Not sure if this is actually best case considering I'm involved in a serious relationship.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wish making out was on the list of things ok to do with NOT your boyfriend. Really, really, a lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the end he turned to me and was like "so....I guess I'll see you......?" I'm not even going to bother dissecting what could be behind that statement, so I said this:</div><div><br /></div><div>"Do you like Mario Kart"?</div><div><br /></div><div>If you can't make out with 'em.....play video games instead.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-65231197515741498772009-03-06T08:03:00.000-08:002009-03-06T08:12:08.776-08:00On a different note....I meant to do this when I put it up, but procrastination took place so I'll do it now...<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I have a new masthead! It's pretty freaking sweet too...</div><div><br /></div><div>All credit goes to "Avery", I'm not sure why she wants be called this, but call her this I shall.</div><div><br /></div><div>I sat and stared at my computer for hours trying to think of something original and "me". It took Avery all of 30 seconds to pull up images of "damask" which is so perfectly and utterly me at the moment. </div><div><br /></div><div>She did this while simultaneously cooking dinner, doing her taxes, walking the dog and writing a novel that rivals War &amp; Peace for length. Just kidding...but seriously this girl does not understand the meaning of "single-tasking". She is EXHAUSTING to even watch, especially for disorganized procrastinators. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's amazing I haven't developed a complex from being surrounded by type "A" personalities.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-16796822157536569582009-03-06T06:11:00.000-08:002009-03-06T06:41:00.996-08:00No ApologiesToday is awesome. It is finally almost acceptably warm outside.<div><br /></div><div>There's something about warm weather that makes me want to cut all ties and just skip and dance in the middle of a nice meadow a la sound of music. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want to be free. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not sure about right and wrong anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let's say you have this couch and when you bought it, it was like "I am going to have this thing forever!" it wasn't the cutting edge of design, but it was very supportive, ergonomically correct and quietly simple and wonderful. Sure, you had to change the decor a little to make it fit but it worked and it was the comfiest thing in the world to sleep on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then one day you look at that room and go "this just isn't me". You want to make some changes, but godamnit that couch just might not fit in with everything anymore. I mean, it's been there for you for years and now you want to leave it on the street for the scavengers? I mean, you can try to re-upholster but it's still the same couch underneath and it does NOT like to change.</div><div><br /></div><div>So you're stuck in decorating limbo, fearful of making the wrong changes because that couch is still really, really good........when you see this other couch. It's a little more abstract and quirky, but it is just so <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">you</span>. At first, you completely write it off because it would not fit as well..you'd have to repaint and possibly move walls for it to work. So you go back to the ergonomically correct couch and curl up on it with a book, satisfied that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;">this</span> is the couch for you. </div><div><br /></div><div>But somehow you just keeping thinking about this other couch....you start going to the showroom once a week just to look at it and imagine how good the room would look with this couch.</div><div><br /></div><div>This entry makes absolutely NO SENSE.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going for caffeine and then I'm going to write this without any couch analogies.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7706511818935195739.post-48117957862023301182009-02-28T07:45:00.000-08:002009-02-28T07:56:48.805-08:00Some Things I Need To Say....<img src="http://blogs.nyu.edu/blogs/ed30/technology/Windows_error_recovered_Capture-thumb.JPG" /><div>....Listen Windows, it's nice to know that it only takes you a few seconds to recover from an "unexpected shutdown" but some of us are still pissed about it, ok? 'Cause you're popping up on the desktop, all like "I RECOVERED!!!! IT MAY TAKE A WHOLE FIVE MINUTES BEFORE I COMPLETELY FUCK UP AGAIN!!!" and like, I'm happy for you and supportive and stuff...but what about me? I plug you in when your battery is low, defrag your hard drives at least once a decade and keep you generally pretty clean (sorry about the crumbs in your keyboard....but I like a little toast with my solitaire) and you can't even ask if I'm ok? BITCH, I OWN YOU!! And to be quite honest...it is NOT ok and I still haven't recovered from the great hard drive crash of 2007....I was in the middle of photoshopping my ex-boyfriend's head onto various farm animals engaged in strange sexual acts and you just SHUT DOWN AND ERASED EVERYTHING. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm still in therapy.</div>K. Reynoldshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00117269221015732448noreply@blogger.com0